


breathing dreams like air

by edgarallenhoe (hoelistic)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion, Bottom Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Bottom Mark Lee (NCT), Drinking, Friends With Benefits, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, M/M, Mentions of War, Mild Sexual Content, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Smoking, Switching, The Great Gatsby References, Top Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Top Mark Lee (NCT), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoelistic/pseuds/edgarallenhoe
Summary: Mark doesn’t think that the American Dream or the stars that once promised him that becoming a novelist are something within his reach.Those are children’s dreams— not even romantics believe that the green light is something that exists.Or alternatively, a Great Gatsby au where Mark and Donghyuck have different perceptions of what their relationship really is.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	breathing dreams like air

**Author's Note:**

> based on a tweet i made a while back in january and now it's here

**The Oxford Man**

It’s another party.

Mark’s been at Donghyuck’s home so many times now, that its layout had become permanently etched into his skin like a bootleg tattoo sailors would get of the girlfriends they’ve left behind during their travels around the world and back. The heel of old leather shoes grates against the white ceramic tiles underneath him, leaving behind a dirty trail of grime. Despite the crisp cut of his suit, Mark’s shoes didn’t do much to impress anyone here.

“Would you like a drink sir?”

Another formal offer Mark politely accepts. He could say that it’s part of the magic of attending one of Donghyuck’s great parties, the element of being treated like a king in a large city full of great singers and poets, but Mark knows that the illusion will break away like the swallowtail butterflies that make their way through Donghyuck’s garden.

The time-of-day people here hate is 3 am because that’s when the dream ends, the painting of a castle dripped in gold losing its beautiful façade and leaving nothing behind but shattered bottles and windows.

One of the poor cleaning maids will have to clean after this mess, but it doesn’t stop Mark from indulging in the alcohol that’s already simmering through his throat, leaving behind a bittersweet residue neatly tucked within his ribs.

It’s funny that he’s here now, slightly buzzed and making his way through the ephemerality of this party— one that will soon become a familiar routine to him like everyone else here. 

Flappers are dancing, cast in gold, welcoming whatever diamonds come their way, and men, those whose pride are neatly settled within their chests, will tell ridiculous tales of their adventures abroad and would eventually become convoluted into legends that will be the talk of the town for weeks to come until a bigger story comes and then another one will slip out of their tongues.

Grand stories about sailing to Spain and fighting bulls until their inherent need to survive takes over. But Mark knows it’s all a lie that Donghyuck’s guests are far too prideful to ever admit to being a fanciful pretense. They’re young hyenas waiting to claim a kingdom that will never be theirs as long as the true king exists. They never look back, always looking forward and facing west.

Mark calls it acting: the process of developing an alternate persona. To present yourself as someone as magnificent as those who live in the East Egg, the devilish garden where its roots have never been dug out, deeply entrenched for tens and tens of years until now and forever. 

There’s music playing everywhere, but Mark knows that all of it is too brassy, too innocuous for it to be bearable to any other ear; it’s so loud that it could easily rupture everyone’s eardrums. But no one other than Mark breaks out of this reverie; they’re too far invested in their faux-gilded dreams to rupture them, more alcohol within their veins than blood.

The only pleasant thing is that the numbness of the alcohol they drink will make all of their fantasies come true. The American one that is.

The one that made the construction of Donghyuck’s pre-built mansion possible— filled with replicas that could never compare to the old paintings passed through generations and generations in the East Egg. Bright images full of gaudy shapes that could only ever possibly hope to be adored and revered by people like Donghyuck, who have never once appreciated their visits to museums.

People who have only recently had a taste of life here. Almost everyone here believes that this what is most beautiful about life. Loud music, wine pouring over the ceramic tiles and carpets, people laughing and having fun. They’re dressed in such beautiful clothes with beads that are as hollow as what their ribs are supposed to protect. 

But like everything with time, these memories are only pleasant because of the numbness of the alcohol they’re drinking from the thin glasses in their hands that would eventually be wrapped around something more delicate, something far more interesting.

They’ve drunk so much, that the taste of the alcohol is sweet now, just like their cloudy dreams of becoming as great as the people who have become cradled and gently cared for in the East Egg to become the politicians and professors they are today.

Mark doesn’t believe in the green light like Donghyuck does, or any of the people he’s surrounded himself with to make his home seem less empty than it usually is during the day. All that welcomes the man with skin sunshine warm and wavy golden hair during the day is a long table of empty chairs and the kitchen maid. 

Mark doesn’t think that the American Dream or the stars that once promised him that becoming a novelist are something within his reach.

Those are children’s dreams— not even romantics believe that the green light is something that exists. 

It’s a figment of the human imagination, light fragmenting into a myriad of colors that could never be properly conveyed or processed through the means of the human eye; they’ve never been created to see more than what Eve was punished with having to witness the moment she took a bite out of the forbidden fruit.

There’s a futility that comes with dreaming that hangs heavy in the air, but it goes unaddressed because of the rush that comes with seeing all of those possibilities presented to you. None of which is achievable, yet Donghyuck who stands here in front of Mark still reaches for the green light beyond his grasp.

“There you are Mark,” Donghyuck says with a smile that shines brighter than the golden parade dancing around his home. “You should join us. You’re my guest of honor after all.”

Mark rolls his eyes, before pulling out a cigarette from the pocket of his coat. He’s always been a practical man, never partaking in the latest fashion trends if it meant that he couldn’t keep the things he’s always carried.

“Couldn’t tell with you leaving me stranded while you talked about your time at Oxford with everyone else.”

Mark’s already lost count of how many times Donghyuck’s talked about his education abroad, about how he had single-handedly made himself a college man through his military service without the financial backing of any of his relatives.

In reality, Donghyuck only attended a semester, deciding that he was too bored with academia and claiming that none of the economic theories his professors had spouted could properly be applied in the actual world. It was far too idealistic in Donghyuck’s eyes for them to become a reality.

“Humans,” Mark remembers Donghyuck going on a drunken tirade, “Are far too selfish for any algebraic formula to predict their behavior. We’re like Icarus. We always reach for what we can’t ever have, even when we know that there’s no happy ending in sight. But despite it all, courage can still grow in captivity and we give it our all to race for our dreams.”

Donghyuck laughs, it comes out childish, like all of the times he’s found a new shiny toy; he loves everything shiny and gold.

“Nice to see you remember so much about me.”

“Of course I do. You’re hard not to notice.”

“Really?” Donghyuck says, amusement flickering in his large eyes. He comes closer and takes the cigarette out of Mark’s hands. Mark half expects him to indulge in the nicotine within it, but to his surprise Donghyuck steps on it, bruising the one white floor with ash grey. “Did you know that these are bad for you?”

“Did you learn that at Oxford?”

Donghyuck laughs again, “From real life, not textbooks. Had an uncle who went through a pack every day for ten years and he died at 42. Although it might have not been bad, he did always want to die young.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Donghyuck starts looking off into the distance, the golden flecks on the bruised purple sky commanding every ounce of their attention because it’s the only time it will ever look like this. Not even when the sky is painted with night, will it ever look like this again. “Because he had grown bored of achieving everything that he wanted out of life.”

“And you? Are you happy now? Do you have everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“Not yet.”

**An Interlude**

Once it’s over, but before Mark leaves, he will be completely blissed out eyes and thighs shaking from pleasure from Donghyuck’s tongue mapping all of Mark’s body as if he were going to commit his skin to memory.

They haven’t even greeted any of Donghyuck’s guests tonight, but Mark already knows that Donghyuck tastes as bittersweet as the liquor he offered Mark when he first arrived. Mark always arrives early, not because he’s particularly keen on maintaining his punctuality record from the moment he entered the schooling system.

Burning within Mark’s heart is the desire to keep Donghyuck for himself, even if it only lasts until one of Donghyuck’s friends asks for him to talk about another one of his stories from the time he lived in Europe.

Mark never stops, not even when Donghyuck gets impatient and rough, filling the entire room with the smell of sex and sweat.

All Mark wants is to tattoo this moment in his body until he can’t take more. He wants to see Donghyuck’s pretty face when he slides down Mark’s thighs and leave everything purple and bruised.

**Principium**

In hindsight, Mark should have never accepted coming to any of Donghyuck’s parties.

He’s known that for so long now, that the only reason why Donghyuck invited him in the first place, is to become closer to Jeno, his younger cousin Jeno, who is beautiful, always smiling, but too young to give up everything for love.

The sickness that had come with being born a Lee had cursed him, always loving the piece of golden scrap that had been given value by the society they lived in more than he ever loved Donghyuck Lee. 

For a boy who grew up with so much love that it overpoured and created waves that silence any other emotion that foolishly hoped to possess his heart, Jeno’s love had quickly shriveled up when presented with a marriage proposal he couldn’t refuse.

Yet, Mark always finds himself a pathetic moth chasing a flame that had only ever shown a crimson brilliance that could rival that of a phoenix coming back from the ashes only towards Jeno. Large broad wings that tinted the sea and sky in the same color to assert its power and magnificence to everyone who dared look in its direction.

But what compels Mark to come and share everything about Jeno, how to win back his first love, are Donghyuck’s eyes.

Eyes that look at the sea and sky, but instead of letting the seabed ebb his dreams away, he listens to the fish crossing its painting crevices, looking beyond for the green light that gently shines in the distance, growing more and more vibrant the longer Donghyuck believes in its existence.

Even if Mark strongly latches onto the belief that all Donghyuck is but a man in a cave, only shown the shadows of a dream denied to anyone that isn’t born in the East Egg, the green light still finds itself beaming, just as strong as the first night it’s appeared.

Shining brighter than the light in the cave, almost blinding Donghyuck into a long chase after it.

So, Mark accepts the first invitation, not thinking about how his heart comes out broken the second invitation, eyes swollen, lips conquered, and neck bruised and purple from Donghyuck’s greediness.

Because like Jeno, Mark had already succumbed to Donghyuck’s charms, a face that’s too pretty with pink lips that he knows very well will bruise the smooth milky expanse of his neck to carve his name, to tear and ruin flesh. 

He falls too easy.

So easy that Mark finds himself believing in the green light too. 

Consumed with the need to bare his teeth, needing more and more until his lungs pour out and eventually collapse onto the bedsheets that burned his skin after Donghyuck comes.

It’s not that Mark hasn’t experienced love before, but he’s never met a person like Donghyuck whose need will never be satiated.

Mark’s far too pliant, willing to let Donghyuck finger him open if it meant that he would be given praise and the tiniest speck of love; a love that would never be as lovely and considered to be as beloved as the love Donghyuck held for Jeno, but Mark takes what little he’s given and cherishes it.

There’s no need for the sunlight to catch and flicker where Mark tucks his love for Donghyuck.

**Principium II**

“Hey!” A voice calls out to Mark, one that he’s not familiar with. It’s more high-pitched than he expects it to be, almost boyish. 

In front of Mark is a man with a face for cherubs and unfolded out of gold. He’s only about an inch shorter than Mark, but his presence makes him seem like he’s towering over Mark’s height. But despite wearing a light beige suit and dress shoes that are far more polished for an occasion like this, flappers won’t ever give a second glance at what people wear on their feet, focusing more on the rings that adorn his fingers.

A weird choice Mark doesn’t know how to even understand. Those in the East Egg would focus on the man with honey skin’s shoes and laugh that they aren’t made out of old leather.

“I think I’ve been expecting you,” the man smiles.

“I think you’ve made a mistake,” Mark replies, and silence takes over the small balcony. He doesn’t mind it though; it would do his eardrums a great favor to forget about the harsh brass noise they were subjected to when he arrived. “I don’t think you’ve been expecting me.”

“Why of course I have!” The man exclaims, handing him a glass. “Don’t worry it’s just sparkling cider so we can remember all of the stars fading away from the world tonight.”

Mark blinks unable to give a response, which simply causes the man to laugh.

“I’m Donghyuck Lee. But I guess I should have introduced myself first. Nice to meet you.”

Donghyuck offers Mark his hand.

Looking back now, he should have never taken Donghyuck’s hand. He wouldn’t have fallen in love with Donghyuck.

The soft fleeing kisses don’t stop, even if Mark isn’t quite so sure how he’s ended up here, with Donghyuck’s hand coming down slowly down his trousers. For a man who’s supposed to be making everyone at this party feel like they’re the center of his universe, Donghyuck is far too focused on Mark. He treats him like someone fragile, someone that is deserving of being treated with love despite this being his reading studio and that anyone could walk in right now.

Mark, does his best to not start breathing heavily, before he croaks, “Donghyuck?”

“Yeah?” Donghyuck lifts his head, eyes meeting Mark’s for the first time in the darkness of his studio. “Do you not want—I mean you can tell me to stop if I’m making you feel uncomfortable.”

“I do want this,” Mark blurts out, thinking about how pretty Donghyuck’s mouth is around his dick instead of listening to any reason his mind tried supplying to him. “I’m just embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” Donghyuck says, reaching for the waistband of Mark’s trousers. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. About you.”

“About me?”

“Yeah, Donghyuck replies as he trails down Mark’s abdomen, nails scrawling out messy shapes on his skin. “About how pretty you looked underneath the chandelier lights when you first walked in through the door.”

“Oh,” is all Mark says as he lets out a small whine from Donghyuck thumbs his slit.

“Prettiest person in the room,” Donghyuck confesses as his lips ghost Mark’s head before sucking on it.

“Really?”

“Really,” Donghyuck says. Mark can’t see Donghyuck’s face anymore, just the golden curls that fell out of the crown of his head. “Now remember to keep quiet. I don’t want to be sharing what comes out of your mouth with anyone here.”

Mark ends up getting made fun of by Renjun the morning after, the sun breaking into his apartment, barely hitting his bird of paradise plant in the corner of his living room.

Mark has never felt so embarrassed before in his life, having his friend overhear him getting deepthroated.

But then again, despite being a Stanford man, Mark has always been regrettably dumb, always letting his impulses take the better of him. He didn’t get into Stanford because he was remarkably intelligent like Donghyuck was—rather his family name grants him an acceptance letter and earns him the grades on his transcript he leaves with. 

All Mark can do now is brush off Renjun’s jokes and the third invitation that Donghyuck sends him later that same afternoon. 

**Unfolded Golds**

For a man who’s never been to the ocean before going off to war, Mark thinks that Donghyuck is far too golden for that to be a fact of life. His skin is a warm bronze hue with moles Mark swears he’s traced the entire galaxy with the lip of his fingers after waking up in the morning together underneath white sheets that were far too soiled to be used again. 

It’s not like Mark’s never seen the stars drawn on Donghyuck’s body before— he’s noticed them right away from the first time they’ve met. Small constellations that move whenever their bodies converge into one.

Mark just thinks that the constellations that adorn the expanse of Donghyuck’s skin look more ethereal in the day than they ever do at night. He just doesn’t know how to describe the feeling of waking up next to Donghyuck other than splendid, golds that are beginning to unfold out of his heart and ready for the world to bear witness to how beautiful it truly is.

Once it comes out as an utterance, a pasting thought that Donghyuck’s never supposed to hear.

“You’re such a sap Mark, but I think that’s what I find most wonderful about you. Did you know that already? I really like it when you get waxy poetic about me. It makes my heart start fluttering.”

**Scattered Stars, Scattered Thoughts**

Today, Mark takes the rest of the night to write for the first time in weeks. Just a small drabble about the sunlight peeping through the windowpane of his apartment.

However, Mark’s given too much credit. He had spent the majority of his evening with Donghyuck, talking about the stars that disappear when dawn threatens to break and wash away the black and purple hues of the sky and replaces them with brighter pinks and blues.

“What do you think about the stars?”

“What do you mean? Aren’t they always here?”

“Not here,” Donghyuck replies, looking back up at the sky above them. “On this side, you can’t see the stars very well. When I visited Jeno and Jaemin the other night for dinner, I could see every constellation imaginable. I could count each little star that made out the smallest of the big dippers. Ursa minor too.”

“Maybe because there are more trees on that side?” Mark’s answer makes Donghyuck laugh; it comes out the bubbly, like all of the champagne they’ve drunk that night.

“Don’t you think they should be preventing me from seeing them? Not the other way around.” Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow, before taking another smoke.

Mark pouts, which only makes Donghyuck kiss him gently on the lips. “What I mean is that there are more trees than houses, which means that there’s less light pollution.”

Donghyuck looks taken aback from Mark’s response for the smallest moment before kissing him again.

“God I knew you were smart. I’m so lucky you’re my future husband.”

“Don’t you mean fiancé?”

“Doesn’t matter. But one day, I’m going to marry you, Mark Lee and I promise you that I’m going to give you the entire world.”

Mark’s not surprised he’s promised the same things as Jeno was when they were still fighting during the war. Big fancy automobiles that had just been invented and readily mass-produced for them to enjoy to the ring that adorns Mark’s finger; a gift Donghyuck gives him after their second night together.

Why you ask?

Donghyuck tells Mark, “Because I don’t want anyone else having you when you already have me.”

Donghyuck’s always been someone to indulge in spoiling his partners, make them feel like they’re the center of the universe. That’s something he’s learned from Renjun and Yukhei, both of whom had a brief fling with Donghyuck sometime during his time traveling the world.

The difference between them and him, Yukhei tells Mark, is that Donghyuck likes Mark’s dreams the most out of everyone he’s ever truly fallen in love with.

He loves them far too much to ever consider wishing that someone else’s dreams could come true.

**Memories of a Man in Love**

Mark thinks about the first time he kissed Donghyuck in broad daylight.

Donghyuck Lee has a face for cherubs, a face that only makes Mark fall in love with him more and more, until all he wants is for Donghyuck to no longer taste like the alcohol he drinks every time they party.

Glass shards surround them every night, not from the fits of rage that come with drinking, but rather the forgotten bottles falling on the floor when Donghyuck fucks Mark against the mirror of his bathroom, come all over the sink.

This time, they don’t kiss in one of the many rooms in Donghyuck’s mansion. Instead, Donghyuck had invited Mark to come with him to shop for new rugs.

“You want me to come with you to buy rugs together?” Mark asks, puzzled by Donghyuck’s request. The first invitation that didn’t consist of him coming back to Donghyuck’s house and leaving more broken-hearted than the night before.

“You’re a man of good taste,” Donghyuck responds with a bubbly smile that Mark can’t help but feel like it's vapid, vapid like the conversations he’s had with Donghyuck’s guests, the ones he’s never seen during the day. But he takes what he receives for as long as he cans and accepts Donghyuck’s praise. “I want you to pick out everything for my new room.”

“New room?”

Donghyuck nods. 

“I’ve decided to add a new studio to keep books and you’re the only person whose taste I trust. I tried asking Renjun for help, but I rather find his taste…questionable at best. And Jaemin.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes before continuing. “His taste reminds me of my grandfather’s. It’s just extremely too outdated for me.”

Before Donghyuck drives Mark and him to the book store, he turns around and kisses him on the mouth. 

Mark doesn’t taste any cheap alcohol this time around and Donghyuck doesn't’ start peppering kisses all over his neck either so that they could have a quick fuck before heading out.

Instead, Mark opens his eyes to see the apple of Donghyuck’s cheeks become streaked with red and his eyes stealing all of the sun’s warmth that day. 

**Broken Egg Shells**

All it takes is 15 minutes and Donghyuck messing up breakfast for him to have his legs wrapped against Mark’s waist as Mark slides into him. 

The other night Donghyuck bragged to Mark that his years in the military had forced him to develop culinary skills that could rival that of the chef he hired for his personal use. Mark doesn’t believe him, remembering from his own experience, all they had was bread and canned beans.

But in the end, Mark relents and lets Donghyuck have his fun until the younger man spills egg yolk all over Mark’s trousers.

Maybe it had been his plan from the beginning, seeing how Donghyuck was already kissing him, wrapping his wet hands around Mark’s neck. He pulls Mark closer on his lap for another kiss, index finger already circling the rim of Mark’s pink hole. 

“You look so cute in the morning,” he smiles, pumping his finger in and out of Mark’s hole, which only results in Mark feverously blushing red. “Come on you’re just so pretty, just let me have you.”

“You already have me,” Mark barely manages to respond as Donghyuck ghosts over the tip of his tits with his free hand. “You’ve always had me. From the beginning and now.”

Donghyuck doesn’t answer, eyes staring at the dick rubbing against his stomach. 

“You’re big,” is all Donghyuck lets out as if he had never paid attention to Mark’s dick other than all of the times he’s sucked Mark off in the bathroom and the balcony of his home. “Why haven’t you fucked me yet?”

Mark dumbly replies, “You never asked.”

“Shit, you’re right. Can you fuck me now?”

**Memories of a Man Who’s Died Because of Love**

Why Mark fell in love with Donghyuck in the first place has nothing to do with the things Donghyuck’s given him.

No— rather yet, it began somewhere else in the dreams Mark lost. Sometime during the second week they met, Mark thinks. That’s when Mark becomes deeply infatuated with a man that’s only ever loved and will continue loving Jeno.

You see here, Mark is a child trapped in an adult’s body.

He’s not someone who’s forsaken his responsibilities. His utility bills are always paid on time and he’s even renounced his dreams for becoming a world-renowned author, realizing that there are dreams no matter how much you wish for them and how much you work into making them a reality, they just will never come into fruition.

At 14 years old, Mark is all baby fat and awkwardly tall, none of his features settling in. Even when he wears nice trousers and leather shoes that at a glance, you wouldn’t pay much attention to them because Mark dons them all of the time, there’s little sign of wear; their quality is far too good for them to have any scuffs and Mark knows that he should be able to wear them for another couple years if needed. 

But there’s nothing that sets him apart from the rest of the people in his family, other than the small poems and stories he keeps hidden in his journal, underneath his bed.

“Mark’s been studying well,” his mother says to his aunt, filling the room with other things she finds impressive about Mark, or things that she’s made Mark do to impress the rest of their family. “He’s received top marks in his class, and we think that with his grades, there shouldn’t be an issue for him to take reign of his father’s business. 

Normally, Mark would agree with his mother’s sentiments, because as it turns out, growing up accepting the compliments that you’re good at everything can result in it becoming a routine. Mark knows that he’s just going through life how he’s supposed to. Get into college, graduate well and take over his father’s business. 

No matter how much Mark tries, there’s no way he could become a novelist, that’s what his parents tell him. Those fleeting kinds of dreams are reserved for those who chase after the green light— and for the Lee family, they no longer need to need to catch up and find it.

His parents don’t mean bad. They’ve already raised him like their parents have and how their parents raised them. There’s nothing wrong with already being born with a golden spoon and just taking over everything that’s handed to him. 

But there’s nothing for Mark to be hungry for. He doesn’t learn how to chase after the green light Donghyuck never has enough of.

Not even when his father’s business fails with the war rendering cosmetics making a luxury, is Mark hungry for making his side of the family return back to their old splendor. Nor does he take this as an opportunity to run off and begin writing the novels his 10-year-old self-had spent countless nights dreaming off, filling tens and tens of pages with chicken scratch about each plot point, carefully thinking about how he wanted to render the metaphors he wanted to insert in each chapter.

Mark goes off into war and the defeat he’s experienced is one he always carries with him. 

He wishes he could be like Renjun, who comes back from war fluent in so many languages he’s picked up from the people he’s fought with, already attempting to learn Spanish so he could travel to Spain and watch the bulls fight the next spring. 

But he comes back home with no great dreams, instead of having nightmares about the blood he’s seen on the battlefield, wishing for the rain to stop pouring and wishing for the bright eyes next to him to start shining again.

He’s missed them, wishing that they could continue chasing after the dreams they’ve told Mark. He wished that he could keep his promise that the sun will rise again for them. The ability to take a deep breath again had become synonymous in Mark’s mind with happiness.

He wishes goodnight to those precious memories, wondering if he would ever see them again. He wishes that the war never happened— that no one had to lose their way back home.

The sun isn’t beautiful. Only the moon is beautiful because it means they’re all still sleeping, saying goodnight to themselves. 

“Do you feel guilty for not dreaming enough?” Donghyuck asks him one night after visiting Mark’s apartment. In retrospect, Mark should have known that Donghyuck wanted more, but he relented and let Donghyuck come in anyways.

Right now Donghyuck was wearing Mark’s shirt. On Mark, it had fit perfectly, but on Donghyuck, despite being the same height and having a much stronger posture, it had fit damn loose. The collar hung over Donghyuck’s shoulder, exposing the golden skin flecked with moles Mark had already traced with his tongue.

Donghyuck reaches out to the journal on the ledge of Mark’s work desk and says, “I know you don’t use this for work. Accountants use numbers, not words. Why don’t you want to share what you’ve written? From what I’ve seen so write so beautifully.”

“It’s an old journal from when I was younger. I used to write in it, but not anymore,” Mark responds, looking at the journal with hesitance as if it had never been in his hands before.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a good writer Donghyuck,” is Mark’s frank answer. 

He stops dreaming of becoming a great writer at 14. You would think that being good at everything else expected of a Lee guarantees being a good writer. From the age of 6, Mark’s received praises for the small paintings he creates in class to the songs he plays on his father’s grand piano.

But not even all of the compliments in the world could mind, Mark’s come to believe that he isn’t as great as he was made out to be. When he’s 14 years old, the teacher who had always praised Mark’s work told him that he’s wasted his time on writing. That focusing on the mundane things of life, like the black socks that have gained all of his attention, are not beautiful enough to write about.

There is no beauty in the everyday life, he tells Mark. Especially when he’s seen people with bigger dreams die before him. People who never wanted to go to Europe, who wanted to stay home and get married and live their happily ever after. People running away from the place they used to call home, the warmth that used to cradle them at night long gone, and not even the moon glistens anymore to keep them company and wish them good night.

What Mark writes isn’t enough. There are no words that could ever thank them for persevering that long, the orange-red sun gone and only rising for him now. Nothing that Mark writes or imagines 

If they could still open their eyes, they would see that Mark has lost all hope in the green light and all of the dreams they let him remember and take with him back, a faint memory that barely echoes, death’s joy taking its toll. 

“He’s lying,” is what Donghyuck tells him. 

“Your dad lied to you. There’s beauty in everyday life. You’ve shown me that every day since I’ve meet you.

“And that’s why you’re here with me right now. The people who wanted you to keep going and live don’t care if the dream you have is grand or splendid enough for you to become a great hero. You just need to be happy Mark, for them and yourself. That should be good enough for you, or at least good enough for me.”

**Hello Dear Moon, Old Friend of Mine**

For the first time in years, Mark can see his dreams again.

Donghyuck’s left-back to his mansion, telling Mark he had some matters to tend to but that he would come back in the morning so they could continue buying furniture for his new studio.

Instead of the heavy words, Mark’s parents had put into his heart, filling it with lead that didn’t allow for it to be free to dream, Mark listens to the 14-year-old boy who wanted to keep the dreams, but was too scared to hold on to them anymore.

And for the first time in years, Mark decides to share with writing again. He’s not sure when and with who other than Donghyuck, but things are okay now. He can proudly say the callouses on his fingers are from writing and archiving all of the beautiful things in the world he’s seen and doesn’t want to forget.

He doesn’t want to forget the love that Donghyuck’s incited within his heart. A little flame that Donghyuck will never know he has the power to easily extinguish with the palm of his hand.

**The Cowardly Lion**

Courage doesn’t grow in silence, it breaks. It breaks until there’s nothing left to grow anymore. 

It takes cowardice for Mark not to tell anyone that he’s been fucking Donghyuck Lee every time he comes over to one of his parties. Only a few of his friends know, and that’s only because he always with scratches covering his entire back and bruises on his neck whenever Donghyuck’s around; there was no avoiding the reality with them already knowing how much Donghyuck affected him.

It’s not courage, for it festers and grows with discourse occurs when there are people who can feed it with advice, advice that comes from experience, which Mark doesn’t have.

Fingers calloused from only ever to want to write, for even war never taught him much about life outside his social circles too entrenched in subtle folds of golds, Mark’s never experienced anything like Donghyuck before. Not one of the books he’s read and so carefully annotated with red and blue pens could ever teach him how to handle Donghyuck.

And he doesn’t think that anyone around him has either.

**First Love**

A man who’s gained everything he owned on his own, from the ring on his right hand to the turf that lines all of his mansion.

But his need doesn’t stop there. Donghyuck wants Jeno Lee. He always has, but his need could have never been supplemented by what he had as a soldier. Now Donghyuck has the entire world at his feet, even if what festers that greed isn’t the pearls and emeralds passed down generation to generation. Mark knows better.

Nothing good comes out of greed.

It’s ironic how it’s the same color as the color that motivates Donghyuck.

There’s only one person who knows about Mark’s love, and it’s someone who he never wanted to know.

Jaemin Na, Jeno’s fiancée.

“Does he know that you love him now?” He asks one night, taking Mark back with him from one of Donghyuck’s parties. It’s interesting how much Jaemin knows about Donghyuck, about Jeno, and Mark.

How the three don’t talk about Donghyuck kissing Mark because he reminds him so much about Jeno.

“No, but why do you let him get so—” _so near to you, and close enough to threaten everything you’ve built. Are you not strong enough to break the silence?_

Jaemin smiles before answering, “Because the castle I’ve built isn’t made out of the sand that waves crash into along the outskirts of my garden. I love Jeno and I have always loved him, even silent and waiting, I’ve always loved him. I’ve waited so long for him to love me too, and I don’t want to break the illusion that he loves me too. I would rather stay silent again and not know he still loves Donghyuck.”

**I Wish to Pretend I Never Asked**

The silence ends up rewarding Jaemin when Jeno tells Mark the same thing two weeks later.

“I stay because I love him. While Donghyuck can offer me the world and more, more gifts and parties than Jeno will ever be able to gift me, I have grown to love him.”

“Do you not regret that you weren’t able to marry Donghyuck instead?”

Jeno smiles at him as if he understood what Mark implied. There’s a pause as if Jeno wanted to tell Mark something, something that he knew, but the smile goes away; it flickers before coming back, more kind than before.

“No. But I want you to not regret your choices Donghyuck. Don’t be afraid of living your dreams. You’re allowed to live your own, not be tormented by the bottles breaking every time Donghyuck calls you over.”

“So are you telling me that I shouldn’t be in love with Donghyuck anymore? That he’s not good enough for me.”

“No, that isn’t it,” Jeno smiles and says, “I think that you need to ask Donghyuck for more than what he’s giving you. And I’m certain that he would give you the entire world if you asked him.

“That’s the Donghyuck I know. Someone who loves until they can’t give more. So why don’t you let him love you Mark?”

**The Cowardly Lion’s Resolve**

You would think that Mark would listen to Jeno’s advice and ask Donghyuck what were they, especially if you were to consider that he had always been an obedient person. From the age of 5, Mark had always been a stickler for rules, never once disobeying his parents. And at the age of 28, if Donghyuck wanted Mark to finger him and blow him in his car, he would without thinking about it twice.

But the thing is, Mark is someone who gets scared easily. He’s always been scared. The silent sea always overwhelmed him, no matter how brightly the green light shined on him. The green light offered to become a star to be used as a navigation tool for him to navigate the darkness of his worries, but he lets their dim clouds ruin everything he’s dreamed of and everything close to making him happy.

He pretends that the thick haze of the long nights that once tormented still exists.

When Mark sees a box with a simple gold band inside, the first thing that comes to his mind is that’s the ring Donghyuck had always intended for Jeno when they were sweethearts. The one Donghyuck promised as a young boy he’d buy him before Jeno married and fell in love with Jaemin. 

Never does it cross his mind that perhaps Donghyuck might have loved him enough to forget Jeno. 

The ignorant world Jeno told him to forget had come alive again. 

**Like Bottles Breaking**

Things break like the bottles Donghyuck’s guests drop whenever they come to Donghyuck’s home and escape from the city life that forces them to work until their bodies wear out like the cheap shoes on their feet.

Mark’s heart does.

And without him knowing, Donghyuck’s heart breaks too.

**A Droplet In A Moment in Time**

It’s strange how the rain Mark used to hate keeps him company. He already survived the nightmares that came with it, but now the gentle drops that hit the pavement leading up to his apartment provide the only noise he hears. Donghyuck’s honeyed laughter doesn’t ring within his ears anymore.

He’s never been someone wise enough to learn from his mistakes— he should let the rain wipe away all of his worries and let the blue sky rise again.

Regret fills Mark’s throat.

**The Story Continues**

Mark’s welcomed by a countdown of one, two, three, when he comes to another one of Donghyuck’s parties. He doesn’t know why he even comes here other than his addiction to Donghyuck. Donghyuck has become the air he breathes, a necessary existence for him to keep going on this wretched earth. It’s interesting how not even the promise of having one of his short novels published soon inspires him to continue dreaming.

Even after weeks of not speaking after calling off their friends with benefits situation, Mark’s heart can’t forget about Donghyuck. His ribs were unable to protect his heart from Donghyuck crawling inside, eating out his intestines to find his way to Mark’s heart and having it too. 

There’s no one here other than Donghyuck, who’s smiling at him, eyes not as bright as before, but still gleaming when he finds that Mark is here. He motions Mark to follow him, and Mark being the fool he’s always been, comes not entirely sure of Donghyuck’s intentions.

But still, Mark finds chases after Donghyuck, the green light he’s sworn never to believe in.

He finds himself in the extra studio Donghyuck had made-built, shelves full of books and journals Mark loved. In the middle of the desk is a typewriter, the one Mark had been saving weeks for but couldn’t afford until the next month after paying his electricity bills.

“What’s this?”

“What do you mean?”

“This. Why did you buy all of this? I don’t understand.”

“I bought this all for you. It’s always been about you. From the moment you walked through the door, I’ve forgotten about Jeno. I forgot why I invited you in the first place. I just know that now, all I want is you if you would have me.”

**Love**

Donghyuck likes being kissed, almost as much as he loves Mark. 

Minutes after confessing his love for Mark, he finds himself being bent over Mark’s new desk, squirming and whimpering Mark’s name. Mark’s tongue digs into Donghyuck’s pretty pink hole as Donghyuck tries suppressing his cries to not have any of the servants notice that their boss was being fucked.

Ultimately Donghyuck fails to have anyone notice and he stains the brand-new desk untouched. Mark flips him over, finally facing Donghyuck’s flushed face, and gently kisses him on the mouth, no need to fight his feelings for Donghyuck anymore.

**The Green Light**

Donghyuck is beautiful. Always believing in the green light that Mark never thought was a possibility for him.

And he’s beautiful and warm enough to make Mark start believing in it too.

**Author's Note:**

> dont forget to leave comments and kudos if you liked this fic
> 
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